Fearless
by Terraform
Summary: Only by knowing fear can one truly be fearless.


A/N: Apologies for the extremely extended stay away, I've been fighting the good fight and am trying to delve back into things. This is a one-shot Leonardo fic that is partially character study stuff (sorry Apritello/Donril junkies), and has been sitting around half done for far too long. Kinda like me. Hope you enjoy! Oh, and I almost forgot to add due to posting in my half asleep state, that _this_ lil story is only finished because the kind and talented Novus Ordo Seclorum never gave up on pushing me!

* * *

_Fearless. _

He hated when his brothers called him that.

Not that he would let it on, knowing that a reaction would only serve as an invitation to keep testing him - it was amazing what an aura of cool detachment could deflect. Raphael, especially, could spit out the word with the perfect amount of sting. But even that he could dismiss. And so through practice he found that the only person capable sneaking past his resolve was himself - his inner reflection savaging at any perceived fault or failing until he lay awake and restless, unable to grasp at the peace he sought.

Like now. He couldn't sleep.

In the levels above he could hear rain flushing through the network of tunnels that surrounded them, stirring and cleansing the muck of the sewers and draining the putrid water into the harbor and beyond. When he was a child, the soft rumble of water would so quickly lull him into slumber. A sweet lullaby for their motherless clan. But things had changed. The years had brought experience. Wisened him to the ways of the world and what they meant to it. Or maybe just hardened him.

Something as simple as sound could evolve to serve as a reminder. To pinpoint a moment in time without uttering a single word.

Nothing more than the sound of rain.

...

_"Mikey, GET DOWN!"_

CRACK

The gunfire split the very air with the blast, burning a path through the cold drizzle. He watched in horror as Mikey slumped to the alley floor.

_NO! _

The panic ricocheted straight to the pit of his stomach like a slug of lead. A quick _swip_ and his katana were resheathed. He pelted through foul puddles making way to his fallen brother. With each step, the fear coursed through him, the accusation burning bright and deep:

_He's gone...It's your fault...He's gone..._

In the distance he could hear Raphael jump the firer, roaring with anger. The metallic ring of his sai. Further away, the sound of Donatello's bo slicing deadly arcs through the water. The thud of wood against flesh.

It had been their first battle against the Dragons in this territory - an unlucky crossing of paths during routine training. And for _what?_

But the blame was on him. It was _he_ that had ordered his youngest brother into the fray of gang members that had borne up from their flank. _He_ that had barked the order to attack before pursuing a fleeing Dragon towards his idling vehicle. _He_ that was responsible for putting Mikey _where_ he was, _when_ he was.

And in his haste, he hadn't accounted for the gun. He had failed. And Michelangelo had paid the ultimate price. The kinetic spark that was their brother, gone.

The rain washed over them like a glaze, capturing everything so horrifically.

At his side, Leonardo dropped to his knees.

"_Mikey_..." he pleaded with a hiss. Fear had given way to outright terror. He would do anything, give anything, to make this right. As it happened, he would not have to. At first there was only a twitch of a hand. Slowly, his brother rolled over.

"I'm okay, bro." Michelangelo said weakly "It missed."

The soft patter of rain filled the shocked silence.

"Wh-what?"

"I , ah... I slipped. You'll never guess on what - okay, don't laugh -" he gave an exhausted chuckle, revealing a discarded banana peel beneath his foot, "Aw, don't look like that, Leo. Ya just saved my shell."

Leonardo's head dropped in utter relief, for the first time letting himself feel the caress of countless raindrops. Behind him he could hear Raphael make light work of the last remaining gang member. A body dropped heavily into the shallow muck, making a small splash. A victorious snarl rang in the air.

"_Hell_ yeah!"

It was over.

Then on his left, Donatello, plundering an unconscious body: "After a new toy, Raphie?"

"More like a few bucks fer our trouble."

"If _you_ want to go through his pockets, be my guest. Here -"

A weapon whirred as it was flung through the air. Raphael caught it with a sharp snap, and twisted it in his hand.

"Heh. Guess it'll hafta do."

"_Leave it_." Leonardo growled behind him, "We're not taking anything."

A dissonant snigger followed:

"Whatever ya say, _Fearless_." Raphael tossed the knife carelessly to the ground where it clattered against the cement, "'sa piece a shit, anyhow.

Raphael shifted his irritation towards his youngest brother.

"Ya just gonna lie around on ya shell all day, Mikey?"

With a soft exhale, Leonardo lifted his gaze back up only to see Michelangelo's face distorted in alarm. Instinctively, he peered over his shoulder. Seeing nothing he turned back.

"What is it?"

"Y-you don't feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"Leo - you got hit. Looks like a bullet grazed ya face... jeez Louise. You okay?"

Michelangelo tapped his cheek, mirroring where he could see it. Leonardo raised his hand to his face, for the first time aware of the hot sting. He inspected the crimson slick on his fingers, almost in disbelief that it existed. He _had_ been hit. Two more inches to the left and bullet would have exited from his eye socket.

"I'm fine." The rain soon washed his hand clean, dropping blossoms of red onto the pavement, back down into the veins of the city where it belonged. "C'mon. Get up. We have to leave."

...

In the dark, if he gave himself enough time to adjust, he could just make out his bedroom. See everything in his mind. Where the floor mapped out to the fringes of the room. Where each piece of gear lay neatly folded and waiting. Where his beloved swords rest, ready at a hairpin turn to be plucked up and strike.

He tried to relax, to clear his mind. But sleep continued to evade him.

_This is not working._

The bed creaked as he rolled to his feet, beginning the journey towards the one place he might find solace.

.

"An' _where_ do ya think _yer_ goin'?" Raphael's intoxicated drawl trailed from over the sofa. Leonardo tilted his head towards the intrusion.

"You're up late."

"Fer _you,_ maybe." his brother countered, "Well?"

"Out. Something I've got to take care of."

Raphael upended a bottle in which something amber sloshed around. He gulped and drew it away, followed with a swipe of his thick forearm.

"Out, huh?" He shook his bottle by the neck, "How 'bout'cha get off yer cross fer one night?"

"Maybe another time."

Leonardo felt guilty at shunning his brother's rare gesture of goodwill, but this was something he could not delay. He felt Raphael's cynical glare dress him up and down. Bleary eyes settled on his naked shoulder. The katana were missing. He had noticed. Even drunk, he rarely missed a thing.

"A-huh. Don't do anythin' I wouldn't do."

An almost imperceptible grin tugged at one side of Leonardo's mouth, "That doesn't leave much, now, does it?"

Raphael said nothing a moment, his attention seemingly focused back on the low whine of motorcycles circuiting the track at Twin Ring Motegi. He peered back down at his bottle but did not drink, instead, picked at the gold label with his thumb. He gave a dismissive snort:

"Careful on ya little solo mission out there, Fearless. Wouldn't wanna catch a cold. Rainin' an' all."

This time Leonardo's grin broke. A blessing from Raphael was a story told among them as if only legend. But hadn't he always had been an expert in detecting when someone wanted to be alone?

"I've never been scared of a little water, Raph."

.

Leonardo slipped from the lair like a shadow. The storm had the channels flooding and roiling with captured city water pouring in from above, sluicing though the sewer grates and echoing to a roar in the vast tunnels. Trying to escape something inside, he began to run. Running until his muscles screamed and his skin glistened with sweat in the scant light. Running until his heart knocked furiously against the inside of his plastron. Running along familiar tracks where tunnels merged then diverged before coming into parts they had rarely ventured…

Past the juncture where the brick supports were beginning to disintegrate, and where Michelangelo had almost been flushed away after slipping from a pipe bridge.

Past the upper subterranean levels where they had encountered the Foot and engaged in a bloody battle that had almost cost Donatello his life.

Past the curves of the mains where Raphael had crashed his cycle after hitting an oil slick, skidding along his shell until it almost scraped down to his core nerves.

He ran until there was no path left, to the very edge of the city, before finally arriving at an outfall terminus perched high on a seawall. Catching his breath, he watched the sewer water continue without him, slinking around his feet before being purged back into the sea where the storm still raged. It was different, the sound of rain on water. Softer. Out over the bay dancing flecks of light marked the freighter ships. Below waves churned into the artificial cliff side as if trying eating the last of the world. It almost looked like it were winning.

He felt the water beckon, pull at his limbs like the moon itself. But he was afraid. Afraid of the unreasoning wrath of the ocean. Afraid he would never be enough. Afraid he could never do enough to keep them safe. That he would fail them where it counted most.

He clenched his hands tightly, suddenly clammy at the steep drop - a malingering childhood remnant reigned in under the tutelage of their master. It surprised him. These days could jump between buildings easily ten times higher without a second thought. But there was something about this place. It had been a long time since he had been here, still then in his early teenage years. The night had been the same. Rain had been falling. Raphael had been goading him to jump:

_'C'mon, Fearless. __What are ya? Afraid of a little water?'_

_'__Don't call me that.'_

_'__Then what are ya waitin' for? A permission slip from Splinter?'_

_'__Maybe that's not such a bad idea.'_

_'__Pfft, he ain't around, golden child.'_

_'__Listen to yourself - this is crazy.'  
_

_'__Listen ta __**this**__.'_

_'__Raph – NO!'_

But it had been too late.

He remembered how he had hesitated until he had seen his reckless brother fling himself in and not surface. He remembered the awful fear that gripped him as he dived in after his brother. Remembered dragging Raphael's waterlogged body to higher ground.

He remembered everything.

Now it was different. Now it was the same.

He reached his hands through the mesh gateway and pried the latch open. It popped out with a firm shove of his shoulder, splashing below into the heaving surface.

_I can do this..._

Shaking with cold, with the weight of the world, he looked down into the vicious swell.

Let go of control.

And jumped.

...

"Master Splinter?"

At his name, the wizened rat swiveled the point of his cane into the ground and rounded to face his student.

"Yes, my son?"

"I... I have something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Of course."

Leonardo relaxed, only a little. He gave a quick glance around the dojo, for once glad his brothers weren't around. Only the weapons mounted to the wall sat witness.

"I've been having difficulty sleeping, sensei, and I was hoping you could give me guidance." he felt the horrible knot in his stomach loosen as he unburdened of some of his worry, "Ever since our clash with the Dragons down by Chelsea Park, every night has been the same: I lay awake second guessing everything I do and doubting every decision I make. When I thought Mikey had been shot... when I thought I had lost him…."

Leonardo choked back a distressed sound. With a nod, Splinter urged him on.

"And what is your question, my son?"

What _was_ his question? He paused only to set it straight in his head. Finally -

"How do move past it? How can I put aside something that didn't even happen? I keep thinking that there's something I did wrong. Or something I'm forgetting. Or something I'm missing. I don't know how to describe it. I'm terrified of making a mistake, of losing one of them. It's messing me up and I'm worried that… that I might not be cut out to be leader."

A spindly whisker flickered as his master mulled over his eldests words. At last he spoke.

"You do not wish to lead?"

"No… no, that's not what I mean. I love leading the team. It's like it's a part of me, like my katana. But now… I feel like I've lost some kind of footing. I don't know how to describe it, exactly."

"Hm." Splinter leaned closer, "And tell me - what happens, my son, when you grip your _katana_ too tightly?"

Leonardo's mind flittered back to one of his earliest training sessions on the twin swords. He had been awestruck by the beauty of the blades and cringed now at how clumsily he had handled them.

"The flow is impeded." Leonardo answered after a moment's thought, "The form is lost."

Splinter tipped his head in confirmation.

"Yes, fear is very much like this. It sacrifices control for the illusion of it. It is an energy that poisons those that channel it incorrectly. To try and control it too tightly is to become lost to it, and a paradox that you must be aware of Leonardo."

He felt shame at his master's words. Until Splinter had laughed.

"Of course, to hold it too loosely is to see an advantageous weapon knocked from your hands, although this was never my concern with you, Leonardo. I will, perhaps, need to speak to some of your brothers."

Leonardo bowed his head, although out of respect or in shame he was not quite certain.

"I'm sorry, sensei. I must sound really stupid."

"Never, my son. That you question it is prudent. Fear is a powerful energy. Like all energy it can be redirected to your advantage. As your _sensei_ I understand the weight of leadership; and as a father I understand the fear of loss. But there is a point where you must accept things as they come. And then you must be able to release it. Or else you will succumb to its darkness. Such was the plight of Oroku Saki..." he faltered with just that name, and Leonardo nodded in implicit understanding. He had heard the story many times before, of their enemy's path of hatred. How it all began over the love of a woman.

Leonardo felt cold all over. That any of his attributes aligned with the Shredders filled him with disgust. He pushed the concern away, determined to find an answer.

"How exactly do I do that?"

"You are familiar with _joriki_, are you not?"

Leonardo answered after a brief hesitation, "A heightened form of concentration where one is unified with the present. I believe you called it 'The endless spring of enlightment'."

Splinter nodded.

"The way in which one handles fear is an excellent measure of this. You must identify and understand in that moment what fear is. Then you must let it go. To let it flow past you so that it does not hinder your actions and thoughts any longer. Perhaps it is better to think of it like this – fear puts into question what we hold important. For some it is money, and others it is power or reputation. Fear can cause one to behave in ways that is counter-intuitive to the honorable way. That is why it is imperative to be able to act upon it accordingly. What is fortunate in your case, my son, is that your fears stem from a good place. And it is how I know you will ultimately conquer them."

The look on blank look on Leonardo's face had Splinter chuckling again. He folded one fuzzy hand atop the other and leveled his gleaming eyes.

"Perhaps you should meditate on it, my son."

…

Nothing.

Nothing but the caress of cold air letting him slip through its fingers. The wind rushing past his ears like a snare drum.

And for a moment he knew: he was not falling, he was flying.

Reality struck hard and fast. He crashed into the water, slipping beneath its surface as trillions of foamy bubbles whirred around him. The cold shocked him senseless. Wave after wave pinned him down. The instinct to survive quickly took hold. At first he struggled, trying to right himself in the water. For more than a moment he was certain he would drown.

_(Relax your hold.)_

_Master Splinter?_

This time he stopped fighting. He opened his eyes to the sting of salt and rancid city water. More darkness. Another surge had him thudding against the silty bed of the bay, his shell kicking up fine sand and swirling it around him in the water. Tossing and churning them together like flotsam and jetsam.

He felt powerless in its grip.

He felt free.

...

It had been raining when they got the call. It was April, her voice cracked with despair. She and Casey had been returning from their trip North via the farmhouse where Splinter had been taking a lone sabbatical. Their sensei, a true master. Not a single person could fell him. Not even Oroku Saki and all his army. Despite all things their strange life had bestowed them, his love as a father had meant they thrived. But in the end it was his heart that took him.

The transformation of fear into grief had been so profound that Leonardo thought at first he would feel joy again. Over time the little things opened him up. Reminiscing with his brothers. The love of a woman. But not a day passed by that he did not miss him.

…

Leonardo had always found it remarkable where clarity would find you.

Water... he had always loved water. Loved his family and what they meant to each other. Even loved the uncertainty of their exceptional lives.

Loved the singing of twin blades in the air.

Air.

His lungs screamed for it.

_AIR!_

He kicked towards the surface, scooping out wings of water as he ascended. With a final lurch he broke the choppy grey ceiling, gasping in sweet oxygen as the rain fell around him.

And out of nowhere, he found himself laughing.

_That easy?..._he thought to himself..._It was that easy_?

...

It was hours later when arrived at the lair's entrance, not too long before the light of the sun touched the city. A push of a nondescript brick revealed the control panel. A sequence of numbers slid open the concealed door. Donatello's handiwork. He paused to compose himself. After drifting on the riptides, he knew he looked a mess, both salt stained and spent. The plan was to slip in undetected. All at once he was sympathetic to the times Raphael had tried the same thing. He had almost made it, when he was foiled by his youngest brother.

"Find what you were looking for out there?"

Michelangelo always was infallibly cheery in the mornings, his stomach and overall energy keening to take off in the untold adventure of the new day. He stood at the stove top poking at a margarine slick with a wooden spatula. To think how differently things could have turned out had not been lucky all those years ago made Leonardo suppress a quiet shudder of dread.

"Yeah. I think so."

"Don't s'pose I could convince you to eat something?"

A faint pang of hunger stirred in Leonardo's stomach, but fatigue neatly aced it.

"Perhaps later, thanks, Mikey."

"Your loss, bro. I gotta dozen eggs, nine strips of bacon and even some _onions_ brewing in this thing. It's gonna be suh-_weet_. Whoa –oops!" Michelangelo quickly began to whisk the mixture in the pan, "Heh. Funny thing about eggs. If one breaks, I just muss it up, and I've got scrambled eggs!"

"Take it as it comes, huh?"

Michelangelo banged the spatula on the griddles edge. "Yep. Forget the fried eggs, bring on the scramble. And bacon. And onions. And toast. Hmm… I might even add some tomatoes and pickles. Would a pop-tart in there be excessive?"

"Don't deprive yourself." Leonardo joked dryly.

"_Hah_. And stop cultivating the _mass_ I got goin' on here?" he gave himself a slap square on the plastron, "Good one."

Leonardo patted him on the shoulder then peeled off towards the hallway as Michelangelo's amused snickers trailed behind him. He didn't know how, but Mikey was always uncannily attuned to what was really going on. The bond of brothers. Without them, what was the point?

The quiet in his room took a force of its own. Out of habit, his eyes rested back on the katana. At last he felt as one. Yawning, he stretched the tightness from his limbs. His body ached, but it was the good kind. The kind he knew would only make him stronger. More resilient. As he slipped beneath the covers, a new journey took hold.

This time, sleep came easy.

Fear was a weapon he had learned to control. To be without fear was stupidity itself, absolving of both honor in victory and of responsibility in defeat. To be without fear was dangerous.

_Fearless._

He hated that word. He was never fearless. He always walked its edge.

...


End file.
